


From Shredded Sail to Sinking Bow

by Agapostemon



Series: Invisible Prisons [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Americorps member Shiro, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Healing, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Minor Matt Holt/Shiro, POV Shiro (Voltron), Police Brutality, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, lotor is a jerk, the Galra are cops
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 04:19:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15016514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agapostemon/pseuds/Agapostemon
Summary: “He’s got a knife!” Lotor’s wail cuts through the chaos, rendering the once hectic classroom dead silent.Shiro’s head snaps up to see Lotor’s shirt collar grasped tightly in his mentee’s clenched fist. “Keith!” he booms, his voice more concerned than angry.But before he can move to diffuse the situation, Lotor’s next words hit him like a gust of icy wind, “Someone call the police, he’s got a knife!”





	From Shredded Sail to Sinking Bow

**Author's Note:**

> New AU! New AU! This one's a high school AU where Shiro is an AmeriCorps tutor/mentor/afterschool instructor, because I am nothing if not predictable. Apologies in advance if it takes me a while to finish chapters -- I have a lot going on.
> 
> Content Warnings: Detailed descriptions of a PTSD episode/panic attack, flashbacks of police violence, bullying/manipulation/Lotor generally being a butthead, cursing
> 
> Age Notes:  
> *Sam, Coran and Kolivan are middle aged (40s-50s)  
> *Shiro and Matt are fresh out of undergrad (~24)  
> *Keith, Allura, Lance, Hunk, Lotor and the Lady Generals are in 11th grade (~16-17)  
> *Pidge is in 10th grade but skipped a grade (14)

“He’s got a knife!” Lotor’s wail cuts through the chaos, rendering the once hectic classroom dead silent.

Shiro’s head snaps up to see Lotor’s shirt collar grasped tightly in his mentee’s clenched fist. “Keith!” he booms, his voice more concerned than angry.

But before he can move to diffuse the situation, Lotor’s next words hit him like a gust of icy wind, “Someone call the police, he’s got a knife!”

_Police._

Shiro feels like he’s been plunged into the ocean: head pounding, unable to breathe and struggling to comprehend the world around him through the distortion of the surrounding water, as if every sound is dulled and amplified all at once. He’s acutely aware of Keith’s stammered protests. Of Lance’s nervous quips and Zethrid’s chant of “Fight! Fight! Fight!” He knows he’s the only adult in the room. He knows he has to act. But somehow he can’t seem to move. It’s like he’s watching a terrible movie that he can’t look away from.

He watches helplessly as Axca pulls out her phone and calmly dials 9-1-1.

_9-1-1._

Pidge scampers off, probably to get her dad.

 _Hopefully_ to get her dad.

Maybe Sam will show up before the…

_Police._

Shiro feels his extremities grow cold and numb. He has the get out of—no. He has to help Keith.

_Keith._

His focus darts back to Keith. His mentee has unhanded Lotor and now has his hands in the air, clearly demonstrating his lack of weapon. His frightened eyes dart towards Shiro, looking for backup and—

Suddenly the threads that hold reality together come undone and all Shiro can see is Matt, sobbing and ripping his hair out on the linoleum floor, surrounded by the wrecked remains of his glasses. Matt, incoherently begging their professor not to call 9-1-1. It’s just a meltdown, it’ll pass. Matt, wailing as an officer grabs him by the waist of his pants and drags him out from under the desk he’s hiding under.

“STOP!” Shiro bellows hoarsely. He’s not sure if he’s addressing Axca or Lotor or the ghosts of the police in his memory. Or maybe he’s addressing the memories themselves, commanding them to leave his head. Whatever the case, he regrets it the moment he sees Hunk flinch in his peripheral.

No no no, he didn’t mean to scare the kids. _Shit_.

He crumples to his knees, curling in on himself and shielding his head with his arms—against what, even he’s not sure. He’s vaguely aware that this is embarrassing. Unprofessional. What if he loses his job? He can’t abandon Keith like that. He can’t do that to any of these kids. But he can’t…

He can’t stop. Panic bubbles up in his chest as he realizes he _can’t stop_. The damage has already been done. He’s failed. He’s failed them all. He feels a hand on his shoulder and instinctively lashes out with an elbow to ward off his attacker. He misses. Then realizes a moment too late that his missed target was not an attacker but a concerned student.

His stomach clenches and the blood drains from his face. He doesn’t throw up, but he almost wishes he would.

He’s failed. He’s failed. He’s failed, and there’s no way to fix it now.

His brain feeds him a blurry image of Matt being dragged away in handcuffs. The boom of a door slamming and the sickening crunch of shattering bone. The ghost of pain shooting through his long-gone wrist.

He screams.

“Takashi,” a gentle voice interjects, “Would you like to go for a walk?”

“No!” Shiro chokes out.

“Takashi,” the voice says, still calm and level, “It’s me, Sam. You’re okay. Everything is okay. Come walk with me.”

“I can’t,” Shiro sobs, “I have to… I have to…”

He realizes he’s not sure _what_ he has to do, anymore, which just adds fuel to his panic.

“Coran has it covered,” Sam assures him, “Come walk with me.”

Something about those words calms the maelstrom inside Shiro’s head, sweeping away the storm clouds and replacing them with a quiet, fragile feeling. Without a word, he unfurls himself and uses a nearby desk to pull himself up off the floor.

Sam smiles, “You ready?”

Shiro gives a small nod and follows Sam into the hallway. They walk together in silence until they reach Sam and Coran’s tiny shared office space in the corner of the school’s community room. They’re the only ones there at the moment, and Sam closes the community room door to ensure that it stays that way. Shiro hovers uncertainly, wondering to himself whether he’s about to be comforted by an old friend or scolded by the afterschool director.

Sam answers his question by offering him Coran’s unoccupied chair and a lap blanket, “You’re allowed to get comfy, you know. You’re not in trouble, Takashi. These things happen.”

He’s pretty sure he deserves to be in trouble, but he knows better than to dwell on that. So he gives a curt nod, then takes a seat and bundles the blanket around his shoulders.

Sam gives him a soft, approving smile, “I’ll just be over here working on grant applications. Whenever you feel up for talking, I’m right here.”

Shiro relaxes a bit and gives an appreciative nod. He’s not ready to talk quite yet, but the open offer is comforting. For now, he settles into grounding himself. He breathes in deeply and looks around.

The community room may be quiet right now, but it’s far from sterile.

(He lets out his breath.)

The walls are plastered with student creations. One of Allura’s poems is right above his head, and across the room is the charcoal wolf Keith drew last month.

(In again.)

The floor is _still_ covered in glitter from Lance’s legendary drive-by glitter bomb at the beginning of the year.

(Out again, this time mixed with a soft huff of laughter.)

One of the desks is covered in Legos from Hunk and Pidge’s latest lunchtime tinkering session.

(In.)

It’s a comforting kind of chaos. A room that has a story to tell. Nothing like the hospital, where all the stories are scrubbed off the walls with disinfectant soap at the end of the day.

(Out.)

Slowly but surely, his breathing evens and the TV static in his skull dissipates. He takes a moment longer to listen to the comforting click-clack of Sam’s typing, then straightens his posture and clears his throat to let the older man know he’s ready to talk.

Sam looks up from his computer and flashes a sympathetic lopsided smile, “How’re you faring over there?”

“Better,” Shiro replies, his voice quiet but steady, “I’m ready to fill out an incident report.”

“Whoa whoa whoa, hold your horses there Mister Business Brain!” Sam slides away from his desk and settles back in his chair, peering at Shiro over the top of his glasses, “The incident report can wait. I asked how _you’re_ faring.”

Shiro huffs in feigned indignation. “I’ve been better,” he admits.

“Really? I never would’ve guessed,” Sam teases gently.

The corner of Shiro’s mouth twitches up in a fleeting smile, but it fades as quickly as it appeared, “Am I, uh… I’m gonna have to talk to the cops, aren’t I?”

Sam gives a sympathetic hum, “Yeah. You sure are. But not today. You’ll have plenty of time to prepare yourself, don’t worry. Would you like me to walk you through what to expect?”

Shiro shifts uncomfortably in his seat and nods.

“Okay. I can’t tell you exactly how this’ll happen, but I can give you an approximation,” Sam wiggles a hand in the air to emphasize his point, “So, Coran has everything under control for today. He’ll brief the officers on what happened. He’ll tell them you stepped out because of an urgent health issue, because you did. Then, the officers will talk to Keith and Lotor individually and probably search Keith’s belongings for weapons—”

“But he didn’t—” Shiro blurts out.

Sam gently shushes him, “I know, I know. You and I both know Lotor is full of bologna. But they still have to check. Then, after that, they’ll take the kids home and fill Lotor’s parents and Keith’s foster family in on the situation.”

Shiro nods and swallows. His tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth.

“Then, once they finish reviewing the case – probably in a week or so – you should get a call asking you to schedule an appointment to talk with the juvenile officer in charge of the case,” Sam continues, “You’re not in trouble. They just need you to tell them what you saw and heard because you’re the only adult witness. Okay?”

“Okay,” Shiro nods again, his voice almost a whisper.

“You’ll be okay,” Sam assures him, “and so will Keith. I know the juvenile officers here. Kolivan and his team aren’t like Lotor’s dad and they’re not like the cops who hurt you and Matt. I know it’s scary, but Keith’s in good hands. I promise.”

“Okay,” Shiro repeats, this time with more conviction, “Okay. It’ll be okay. Thank you, Sam. I appreciate it.”

“Of course,” Sam beams, “Now… how about that incident report you were so eager to fill out earlier. You still up for that?”

Shiro lets out a weak laugh, “You know I am. You got a form over there for me?”

“You’re in luck! I’ve got one right here with your name on it,” Sam leans forward and plucks a sheet of paper off his desk and passes it over to Shiro, along with a pen so he doesn’t get accused of stealing Coran’s treasured Space Pens.

Shiro falls into the paperwork rhythm almost immediately. It’s unpleasant paperwork to say the least, but it’s something he can do. Something he has power over. And that’s exactly what he needs right now, so he revels in it while he has the chance. Because soon he’ll have to go home and drown in guilt for not being able to do more.

**Author's Note:**

> If you wanna come say hi, I'm [Agapostemon](https://agapostemon.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr!
> 
> Also: Please remember that I write purely for fun and catharsis. My fics are unbeta’d and minimally proofread. They’re not perfect, and that’s okay. If you notice something I could fix or improve, please keep those thoughts to yourself. If I genuinely want critique, I’ll ask a close friend in private. **Surprise critiques are very stressful and discouraging.** Thanks for understanding!


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